


nothing else to do here (but fall into your arms)

by inber



Series: Inber's Eskel x Reader Fanfiction [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Come Shot, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Messy, Multiple Orgasms, One Shot, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Self-Insert, Smut, Sweat, Unrealistic Orgasm, Vaginal Sex, We Love Goat Dad, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: I've been relentlessly teasing everyone on Tumblr with my Eskel nonsense, so I wrote up a smutty drabble, either as an apology, or to make things worse. YOU DECIDE.Or: Eskel likes it when you take control and push his limits. He likes it a lot.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Reader, Eskel (The Witcher)/You
Series: Inber's Eskel x Reader Fanfiction [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840096
Comments: 15
Kudos: 230





	nothing else to do here (but fall into your arms)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ficsandcatsandficsandcats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/gifts).



Eskel was sweat-slick and tense beneath you. You’d managed to divest him of his jerkin without damage. His undershirt had not fared so well; in the frenzy of your lust, it had been torn, exposing the witcher’s defined musculature. You greedily devoured the sight of his abdominal knit, scattered with scarring and wiry hair, as you rode him.

  
You’d had no time for the complexities of his pants. His codpiece was designed for protection and fast relief, but you enjoyed the access it gave you. Tonight, licking the heat of his mouth in kiss after kiss, you’d pushed him atop the bed and undone the laces of it. His hose were pulled down easily enough, and then blessedly, he was yours.

  
He liked giving you this power. This man, capable of violent strengths that you could only guess at – he fell under your bossy dominion with loving compliance. Now, as you took your pleasure from him, naked and writhing, he watched you with hooded eyes, the tempered gold of his irises thinning into promise rings. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he pinched his teeth together. He kept one huge hand on your hip, steadying you, and the other pillowed behind his head.

  
You held his stare, panting, rutting dirty on his thick dick. Your thighs ached with effort, your cunt throbbed with the overstimulation, but you chased your third orgasm with feverish insistence. As you felt the brush of his blood-hot cock against your g-spot when he casually lifted his hips, the pulses built into a tremor that rocked you apart. Your voice was hoarse from screaming, but you grit his name out; your clit was sore from the friction of his pelvis, but you ground it down.

  
He hadn’t come once. He watched you through every climax, grunting with effort to control himself, obsessed with the shiver of your body and the rhythm of your clenching cunt. In the aftershocks of each high, he held you, and you felt his need in the flex of his dick within you.

  
But if you asked him, he’d hold out for as long as he had to. For as long as you wanted him like this. Because you knew that when you demanded of him – _fuck_. His orgasm would take him apart, pick every synapse to pieces, obliterate his rational mind and have him fuck-drunk and animalistic with the bliss. The longer he held, the more intense it would be.

  
You put your hands on his huge thighs to brace yourself, resting for a moment. You drew the muscles of your pelvic floor tight, squeezing him, and were rewarded when he groaned and exposed the column of his throat, throwing his head back. You kept him there, in that tight heat, as you lazily rubbed your sensitive clit. He came back to you, gasping, unable to keep his gaze from the perfect pornography you presented as you used his body like a toy to get off with.

  
Number four was a slow, surprising sink into a lazy fizz of ecstasy. The sensation of your fingers became too much very quickly, and so you simply swooned and gently rocked, the flutter of your cunt fisting his dick. His breathing was more growl than exhale, his hand kneading the soft flesh of your hip, but he held. He felt poker-hot in your friction-swollen pussy. Every beat of his heart, another twitch of his desperate cock.

  
As you recovered, you pushed yourself up, all coltish trembling, and slunk up his chest. Wild of eye, one pointed canine exposed in the curl of his upper lip, he watched you wolfishly. You threaded your fingers around the metal of his medallion, and _tugged_.

  
“Come,” You commanded, voice a scratch-husk, “ _Come_ for me, baby.”

  
You saw the snap as his brain devoured the permission and demolished the walls of his powerful control. For a moment, his eyes were blank; he was all feral, single-minded in his task to breed, to fuck, to come. To come _for you_. Faster than you could register, he curled a leg around your own and twisted, rolling you beneath him. He kept his weight on your hips, as if frightened you’d escape him somehow. One hand threaded viciously in your hair, exposing your throat to him. The other pulled you as close as possible, fingers digging into the meat of your ass.

  
The first jets of his come hit boiling hot, thick, as deep within you as he could get. He scrunched his eyes shut at the feel of it, burying his face in your shoulder. As his orgasm built, the hand in your hair pulled tighter, and you moaned in a dizzying mixture of pleasure and pain as he sank his teeth into your shoulder. Angrily he fucked you into the mattress, short juts of his hips, as he came and came. He cursed and panted and shuddered through it, driven mindless. You felt the gush of his seed flood past the pressure of his cock and drip from you, and still he spilled, reduced to whining your name like a prayer as your body coaxed of him, demanding: _more, more._ When he had nothing left to give, he still throbbed. You wrapped your arms and legs around him and held him, luxuriating in him, and this feeling you could give him.

  
Eventually, he began to come back to himself. His quivering matched your own, and you were both a mess of sweat and semen and slick. He met your eyes for a frantic moment, and you saw him falling. You saw the drop as the intensity took its toll on his mind, now vulnerable and suggestible in the wake of the experience.

  
You let him pull from you simply so he would not crush you, but then you were wrapping yourself against his side, stroking his hair, kissing his face. The things you whispered were small but grounding; how good he made you feel, how beautiful he was, how nice the breeze from the window felt on your heated skin. Slowly you saw him stabilising. You held a bladderskin of water to his lips, and had him drink. Sip by sip.

  
He was back with you, you knew, because he wrapped his arms around you like you were the most valuable object in the world. Cradled close, he snuffled your hair – scenting you, he’d once told you – and you giggled, readily allowing him the comfort. It wasn’t a space for words. You traded small, sleepy kisses, the mutual understanding that cleaning up and bathing was something to worry about later, and with one hand curled in the ruined material of your witcher’s undershirt, you dozed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers for reading! You can follow me on tumblr @witchernonsense if you want to read drabble or straight up stupids.


End file.
